


A Musketeer's Training Regimen

by CanadianGarrison, Vera_dAuriac



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bath Sex, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Whump, five times fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 17:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7693336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianGarrison/pseuds/CanadianGarrison, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_dAuriac/pseuds/Vera_dAuriac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, Five Times d'Artagnan Got Hurt Training, and One Time Treville Got Hurt Instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Left Feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Teland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/gifts).



> This story would never have come into existence without SnowGlory, thanks so much darling. Thanks also to Loveel_Who and a certain #smuttyhusband for audiencing and editing, you're so good to us! All mistakes are our own, though sadly the characters are not.
> 
> Gifted to Te, as a thank you and tribute for all the glorious filth you've unleashed upon the unsuspecting world. You are an inspiration and an artist, and we can't think of any better way to show our love and appreciation than to create and share yet more porn.

It was a beautiful day at the garrison. Captain Treville would say so no matter what the weather, but today the heavens cooperated; the early spring morning was crisp and clear. He stood at the balcony rail, looking down at his men in the courtyard, gloved hands resting in grooves worn smooth by his predecessors. 

There were a few recruits working on their fencing and hand-to-hand combat while others watched, but not as many men as usual, the majority of the commissioned Musketeers having been sent out on the King’s business. 

“All right, _ mademoiselles _ , what are you waiting for? Breakfast in bed?” Treville shouted down at them. “Another glorious day in the Musketeers!” He paused for dramatic effect. “A day in the Musketeers is like a day on the farm. Every meal's a banquet! Every paycheck a fortune! Every formation a parade! I *love* the Musketeers!”

Most of the men had scrambled to look busy when the yelling started, taking up weapons if they had been resting and moving into even more complicated routines if they hadn't. One, however…

D'Artagnan leaned back, tilting his head up to look his captain in the eye. 

“I've been a farmer, sir. Shocking lack of banquets, I found. And the pay was actually better than this!”

Such a smart mouth d'Artagnan had. If he wasn't careful, some day that boy would open his mouth to make a sassy comment and find it stuffed full of his captain’s cock. Until then, however… 

“Don't think I haven't noticed the amount you eat, boy. And if you've a problem with your pay, I remind you that you have not yet earned your commission. Perhaps you’d be happier with the Red Guard?”

Empty threats; he would never send d'Artagnan away. He'd miss that tight arse, for one thing, and the boy’s infectious good nature, for another. 

“Never!” d'Artagnan shouted, flourishing his sword with exactly the cheerful violence Treville encouraged in his men. He grinned back at his best recruit, gesturing towards the courtyard, and d'Artagnan turned his attention back to the men sparring behind him. 

Treville sighed to himself, shifting a little on his feet to let his half-hard cock settle more comfortably in his breeches. Ever since d'Artagnan had arrived at the garrison, wild and angry and so, so beautiful, Treville had been drawn to him. His youth, his ferocity… his mouth. Dear lord, that mouth. Plush lips, strong teeth that sometimes *bit* those lips, and what else could they bite? How would those lips feel crushed against Treville’s own, and what sounds might that mouth release?

As Treville watched, d'Artagnan faced off against Lefoux, sword in his right hand and  _ main gauche  _ in his left. D'Artagnan had improved significantly under Athos's tutelage, and it showed now. He defeataed Lefoux quickly, although not without showing off, getting in under his guard to strike up at his belly, then backing away, then engaging him in a flurry of thrusts and parries that ended with d'Artagnan's sword at Lefoux’s throat. 

They stood there, frozen for a moment, a bright tableau against the drab stone and dirt courtyard. D'Artagnan looked like a young god, full of vengeance and determination and the power to bend the world to his will. He glowed with a light sheen of sweat, chest heaving under the open neck of his shirt as he breathed hard, left hand flexing open and shut as if he wasn't sure what to do with it now that his dagger was sheathed. 

Had d'Artagnan been with a man, yet? His relationship with Athos seemed a bit…fraught, perhaps, although Treville wasn't sure if Athos had taken any lover, male or female, since he joined the Musketeers. Perhaps Porthos and Aramis, they did everything else together. But d'Artagnan, even if he had been with all three of them, he was still so… _ fresh _ was the word that came to mind. Ripe was another, and juicy. Ready to be picked, if he wanted to continue the fruit metaphor. Which he didn't. 

What he did want, Treville eventually allowed himself to admit, was d'Artagnan. His mouth, his arse, his cock. He had a magnificent cock, and Treville had the years of experience to know that a dick like d'Artagnan's didn't come along every day. Huge, yes, but also well-proportioned, not too veiny. Just right for a captain’s purposes. What might he taste like, a boy — a young man; d'Artagnan would correct even his captain — what might a young man like him taste like? Could Treville find out? 

While he was lost in thought, the group sparring in the courtyard broke up, some headed to the mess for a snack, others to the armory to gather weapons for target practice. 

D'Artagnan, however, remained in Treville’s view, tidying up after his brothers. He bent down to gather several wooden practice swords in his arms, the leather of his trousers stretching tight across his arse. For a moment each round cheek was perfectly defined, just as if he was waiting to be grabbed, squeezed, spread. Treville felt his mouth actually begin to water as he considered spreading that arse wide with no clothes in the way, laying the boy out on his bed and licking, tasting, teaching d'Artagnan everything he knew how to do with his own lips and tongue and fingers and cock. 

When d'Artagnan carried his bundle of wooden swords across the practice area, Treville couldn't help noticing how easily he bore such a heavy load. The boy was strong when he arrived at the garrison; growing up working hard on the farm had seen to that, and his training had only improved on that strength.

Now d'Artagnan's broad shoulders and muscular arms were impossible to ignore. Had he learned to use that strength with a lover? Did he know the exquisite pleasure that could be found in holding someone down, to do with as he would? Had d'Artagnan yet been taught to find the beauty in fighting back with all the might he could muster, fighting and struggling and still being overpowered by a caring and responsible lover? Treville couldn't decide what he wanted more, and probably wouldn't — his greatest pleasure always depended on knowing what would please his lover the most. And he would never know what young d'Artagnan wanted, not in this matter. 

D'Artagnan had finished cleaning up the courtyard and was looking around with the unmistakable air of a man who wasn't sure what to do next, and hadn't found himself in that situation for quite some time. No wonder, with Athos, Aramis and Porthos all away from Paris. 

“D’Artagnan, come up here for a minute,” Treville called. He startled and then did so, light on his feet, still full of youthful energy, smiling curiously at his captain. 

“Athos has seen to your training, and you've done well under him thus far.” No need to mention all the things Treville would dearly love to see d'Artagnan do under Athos, or his other brothers. Or Treville himself. 

“Thank you, sir.” The smile brightened; the curiosity remained. 

“That said, while he is away we cannot allow your training to lapse.” D'Artagnan nodded. “As such, I will be working with you personally until his return.” The confusion vanished under an onslaught of surprised delight. Was d'Artagnan truly that excited to train directly under captain Treville? How old did a man have to get before juvenile jokes about being under another man were no longer funny?

“Thank you, sir,” d'Artagnan said again, this time enthusiastically. “There's so much I can learn from you, I can't wait to begin!”

“We'll start after lunch. Go do some target practice now, and then report to me first thing this afternoon.” 

“Yes, sir,” d'Artagnan said, turning to head back down. Treville watched him leave, his long hair bouncing in the morning breeze, just begging to be grabbed, tugged. Maybe d'Artagnan would enjoy feeling Treville's hands winding in his hair, pulling him back and forth as Treville fucked his mouth…. 

Two steps from the bottom, d'Artagnan suddenly pitched forward, shouting and landing in a heap on the ground. He stood up immediately, looking around to see if anyone had seen him fall, but his pride was mostly safe; Treville himself was the only one watching. It looked like d'Artagnan was having trouble putting weight on one leg, but the fact that he could stand was a good sign. 

“Agility is first priority on the training regimen,” he said gruffly, heading down the stairs. D'Artagnan would need to see the surgeon and get himself looked at before their training could truly begin. 


	2. Slippery When Wet

D’Artagnan scurried from one rock to the next with absolutely no hesitations this time. When he landed on the bank of the river, out of breath and bent over at the waist, he was smiling, justifiably pleased with himself. Or at least he had thought he was justified.

“My grandmother could have done that faster,” Captain Treville scowled. “Again.”

It took d’Artagnan a moment to push himself upright, not so much because of the exhaustion as the disappointment of not yet pleasing his captain. They had been here at the river for an hour, Treville comfortably propped up in the shade of a tree, doublet undone and shirt untied, peeling apart blades of grass like this were a picnic. Meanwhile d’Artagnan leaped from rock to rock in the river, stripped down to nothing but his breeches, dripping sweat and water from every part of his body. It was part of the agility regimen Treville had devised after he tripped going down the steps. He didn’t think he especially needed agility training—his slip on the stairs had simply been his enthusiasm that the captain was taking a special interest in him. But d’Artagnan would never complain about how Treville wished to bestow that interest.

However, he was tired, and the ankle he had hurt on the steps that day, which had started to feel better, was now throbbing. D’Artagnan wanted to stop, wanted to just fall face-first into the cool water and stay there until all the sweat was washed from his body. But he couldn’t let down his captain. He would jump rocks all night if that’s what it took to gain Treville’s approval.

So, he dipped his cupped hands into the water for a quick drink and set off on the journey to the other side of the river. Again.

But not quite half way across, his bad foot hit the edge instead of the center of the rock he was aiming for. Earlier in the day, he’d made the same mistake at the same spot, but he’d used his strength to recover his balance. That wasn’t going to happen this time. He was too exhausted, his ankle too sore, and he fell into the river. Not that falling into the river should have been a problem—this would hardly be the first time he went in—but in his tired state, d’Artagnan didn’t see just how close the rock on his left was until his head hit it.

“D’Artagnan!”

He thought the captain may have said his name a few more times, but d’Artagnan was disoriented, his head submerged and his hearing dulled. But in moments, he felt Treville’s strong arms raising him back to the surface. D’Artagnan spluttered out water and tried to shake the wet hair from his eyes, but that only made him feel woozy and cough some more.

“Shh, shh. It’s alright, d’Artagnan. I have you.” D’Artagnan half floated, half rested in the captain’s arms. His breathing was rough, but evened out as Treville swayed with him back and forth. “Can you tell me what year it is?”

“What year, sir?”

“Yes. What year is it?”

D’Artagnan was about to protest that while he was in excruciating pain seemed an odd time for Treville to ask stupid questions he already had the answer to, but then he remembered that he’d seen other men in training take blows to the head, and this was a standard question to see if a man had his wits about him. “1630, sir.”

“And who is our king?”

“Louis XIII, sir.”

Treville hugged d’Artagnan to his chest. “Glad to see there’s nothing wrong that a few stitches won’t take care of.” Treville loosened his grip so he could pull back and look d’Artagnan in the face. His reach was a bit stretched, but he brushed the hair away from his eye. The area was tender, and d’Artagnan could now tell he was bleeding. Yet, all the same, Treville’s gentle touch with his rough hands felt good. “Shame Aramis is out of town. But never mind. We’ll stop by the surgeon on the way back to the garrison.”

“Can’t you do it yourself?”

Treville chuckled. “You’re a very handsome young man, d’Artagnan, and a few scars will serve to give your face character. However, my stitching would add something decidedly more and worse than simple character.”

D’Artagnan turned his face directly up to look Treville in the eye. He couldn’t understand why he had this irrational need to push the point, but he felt passionately that he only wished for his captain’s sure hands on him right now. “I’d really rather just go back to the garrison and have you stitch my wound.” D’Artagnan flinched as blood trickled into his eye.

“We can argue about this later,” Treville said, carrying him toward the bank. “Let’s get a dressing on that and see if we can’t slow down the bleeding.”

As the water grew shallower, d’Artagnan was no longer partially floating, and Treville bore his full weight. He shifted as though to get his feet under him, but Treville only squeezed him closer. “Almost there,” Treville said with a strained voice.

“I’m sure I could walk.”

“And you will. Back to the garrison. After I tend your wound.” Treville sloshed out of the river and deposited d’Artagnan under the tree next to his abandoned clothes. When Treville smiled at d’Artagnan, he barely looked winded. “So, seeing as how I’m the one who ordered you jumping across slippery rocks when I knew you were tired, I shall sacrifice the hem of my shirt.” And before d’Artagnan could protest, Treville had his shirt untucked from his pants and was ripping a strip of cloth from it with the aid of his dagger.

“You shouldn’t have done that. I’m the one who fell. I truly do need more training. Clearly, I’m not good enough yet.”

Treville grinned as he began wiping away the blood from d’Artagnan’s temple. “Nonsense. You did incredibly well today.”

“You said your grandmother could have made it across faster.”

“You should have met my grandmother.”

They both laughed now. That is until Treville wiped away blood that had dripped onto d’Artagnan’s chest. D’Artagnan fought to not let his captain see that his breath hitched, a new idea having come unbidden to his head. He, of course, knew about Aramis and Porthos.  _ Everyone _ at the garrison knew about them. And in his own awkward way, d’Artagnan had tried to let Athos know that if he could ever see a simple Gascon farm boy in a similar light, he would be interested, not that Athos had ever responded. D’Artagnan still hadn’t figured out if that was because Athos was not interested in other men, not interested in d’Artagnan, or if d’Artagnan was not communicating his desires properly. But there was one other bit of garrison gossip he had heard from numerous sources, just sadly not from any who were directly involved—that Aramis and Porthos had separately (and together) been with the captain. D’Artagnan had dismissed the rumor. The captain was the captain, and not to be considered in such a light. But now, here, Treville’s strong yet gentle hands comforting and cleaning him, his endless blue eyes examining d’Artagnan, well, it changed everything.

D’Artagnan now fervently hoped the rumor was true. And that the captain just might be interested in a clumsy recruit, who at his best was as good as a spry grandmother.


	3. Not Too Sharp

Captain Treville had spent the entire day telling d'Artagnan to sit down. Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but only a minor one — every few minutes d’Artagnan would come up with something he simply had to do, some reason why he should be with his captain instead of resting in the courtyard, and Treville was dangerously close to running out of ways to say “get your arse back on that bench.” 

Even worse, every time he did say it, Treville then got caught up in thoughts about other places d'Artagnan's arse could sit. Treville’s lap was a top contender, as were his bed and the desk in his office. D'Artagnan could drop his trousers and sit right there in the middle of all the papers and quills and detritus of past missions, letting Treville remain comfortable in his chair and just lean forward to suck that dick…

Could the boy keep quiet, or would he give them away with moans of pleasure as Treville fucked his own face onto the thick cock he knew d'Artagnan's trousers were hiding? He hated those trousers. They were standard-issue uniform, of course, which meant they were loose enough that Treville couldn't get even a glimpse of a bulge that might indicate interest or arousal. They were the worst trousers in all of France. 

D'Artagnan was halfway across the courtyard before the captain realized it, but a loud growl was enough to halt him in his steps. As Treville walked slowly down the wooden staircase, d'Artagnan looked up at him, chagrined but also determined. 

There was something new in his eyes; Treville hadn't seen it until d'Artagnan had injured his head and Treville stitched him up, but now…now he was seeing it more often. Determined, but perhaps something else as well, something more like desire. Except that couldn't be it; d'Artagnan was a man in his prime, regardless of how often Treville called him a boy half-grown, and what interest could he possibly have in a man at least twice his age — and his captain, no less?

“I'm fine, sir,” d'Artagnan said. “Really, I need to be doing something, I've been sitting around all day.” 

“I know,” Treville answered. “And I have just the thing. Follow me.” Doing something indeed… Did d'Artagnan have no idea how he sounded? There were so many ways Treville could wear him out, help him work off some of that excess energy. Unfortunately paperwork had to take priority, so Treville could not indulge his fantasies for long. 

He led d'Artagnan into the armory, then turned to face him. D'Artagnan's exuberance at being promised something to keep him occupied faded as he realized what work was about to be assigned to him.  

“We can't have you up and about yet; head wounds are serious and must be treated accordingly.” D'Artagnan nodded, a bit glum but not arguing with his captain. “That said, as long as you remain here where it's cool and quiet you should be all right. The spare uniforms and ammunition need to be sorted and organized, and the swords need sharpening. I'll be back to check on you later.”

“You won't stay with me?” D’Artagnan seemed more disappointed than Treville would have expected. Maybe the spark he felt wasn't his imagination after all…

“The Captain of the Musketeers always has paperwork, d'Artagnan. Come and find me when you finish, if I've not returned by then.”

* * *

Three hours later, Treville could no longer read his own handwriting; the sun had set, and at his age, reading by candlelight was a difficult prospect. Besides, he'd made d'Artagnan spend more time cleaning weapons and tidying the armory than he would for anything other than a punishment detail. Some relief was in order, for both of them.

Heading back to the armory, Treville slipped into the room unnoticed; d'Artagnan's back was to the door as he bent over a sword, running the whetstone along the blade's edge over and over, the rhythm of it hypnotic in the dim evening light, brightened by a few candles close to d'Artagnan's work table. 

The back of his neck was lightly-sheened with sweat, and Treville gave himself a moment to consider simply bending down and licking d'Artagnan there, tasting his salt, letting himself suck and bite at the spot where his throat became his shoulder…

Just as Treville was about to say something to d'Artagnan, he knocked over a wooden practice sword, and d'Artagnan jumped, turning towards the door. The sword in his hand, however, did not turn with him. D'Artagnan shouted, dropping both sword and stone, and Treville rushed towards him. 

“D'Artagnan!” Treville nearly shouted. “Your hand, are you — ”

“It's not bad,” d'Artagnan said, his voice tight with pain. Treville could see blood in the palm of d'Artagnan's hand, and, thankfully, could also see that all his fingers were still attached. 

“Not bad is still not good,” Treville said. “Can you move your fingers?” 

D'Artagnan wiggled his fingers one by one, wincing but not complaining. He was such a strong boy, so capable. Treville pressed his handkerchief against the wound, hoping to staunch the flow of blood so they could determine if d'Artagnan would need stitches. 

“Not too bad at all,” Treville said, “but a cut on the hand is very prone to infection. And it's your dominant hand, which won't help matters.”

“I can sword fight one handed,” d'Artagnan protested, “and I'm nearly as good a shot with my left hand as I am with my right!”

“Yes, but it takes both hands to load your gun, and if a blood-sickness sets in it won't matter how good you are at sword fighting.” It was a shame to dampen d'Artagnan's spirit, but he needed to be realistic and keep himself safe from infection. 

By now the blood had stopped flowing, and Treville was able to slowly peel back the handkerchief to examine d'Artagnan's wound. 

“It's all right,” Treville said gently. “We can't be sure until it’s washed and cleaned, but if you're careful, you should be able to avoid both stitches and infection.” D'Artagnan's face had lit up when Treville first said it was all right, but then fell at his captain’s suggestion of caution. 

“Thought I  _ was _ being careful,” d'Artagnan muttered as he set about gathering his sharpening supplies with his left hand. “I always seem to fuck up when you're around.”

“There have been some rough patches,” Treville said. “But I've seen great things from you in the past few days.” Not everything he wanted to see, nowhere close, but it was a start. Treville knew d'Artagnan's grunts of exertion now; he could easily imagine the sounds the boy would make for a good, hard fuck. He knew what d'Artagnan looked like when he dripped sweat and river water; Treville could picture spend dripping from that same long, flowing hair with barely a moment’s effort. 

D'Artagnan only sighed, looked at Treville for a moment, then sat back down on his stool. It was a searching look; something in his face made him appear older than he usually did. 

“Toss myself off left-handed,” he said. “At least that's something.” That it was — details like this should be cherished, encouraged. But how could Treville possibly do so without compromising his position as captain? There was simply no way, especially since he wasn't sure what d'Artagnan might want from him, fraught moments and over-long eye contact notwithstanding. 

“Indeed,” Treville replied, barely more than a grunt. He turned and started towards the door. “I'll go get the surgeon to look at — ”

D'Artagnan's uninjured hand shot out in front of Treville, came to rest on his torso, just above his belt buckle. Treville was half-hard immediately, could feel d'Artagnan's heat through all the layers of cloth and leather. 

“What are you doing?” It came out too flat, too sharp, but — he was the captain, their trusted leader. How could Treville let this continue? He wasn't even sure what ‘this’ was, but he knew impropriety when it reached out and touched him. 

“You know exactly what I'm doing,” d'Artagnan answered, betraying his youth more by how confident he sounded than anything else. “I want to show you that I'm not always so clumsy.” D'Artagnan's hand slid down, stroking over the crotch of Treville's trousers until his hardening length was caught tight in strong fingers, squeezing once, again. 

Treville backed away a step. It was the hardest thing he'd done in years, and he couldn't even fault himself for the pun. 

“This….” Where to even begin? “This is not part of the Musketeer training regimen.” That had to be enough, didn't it?

“Perhaps it should be,” d'Artagnan said, standing up, turning a bit to face Treville directly. 

“I know you're capable,” Treville replied. “You don't have to do this.” Please, please don't try again, Treville nearly prayed. D'Artagnan was too beautiful, too alive and good and brave and strong and beautiful to resist for long. Please, try again. 

“I want to,” d'Artagnan insisted. “I want you. And…I've seen the way you look at me, especially since we started our extra training. I think you want me, too.”

D'Artagnan wasn't wrong, and Treville was done pretending otherwise. They came together in a frantic kiss, Treville’s hands fisting in d'Artagnan's hair as he licked deep into the boy’s mouth, groaning with the pleasure of finally knowing what he tasted like. It was sunshine. 

D'Artagnan broke the kiss, gasping and grinning. “Now, let me,” he said, and Treville nodded. 

“Anything you want.” 

D'Artagnan reached out with his left hand, tugging at the laces on Treville’s trousers. They tangled and Treville helped, and a moment later his belts were pushed up and his clothes were open and his cock was in d'Artagnan's hand. 

D'Artagnan’s touch was deft and sure, and Treville groaned at the feeling, leaning back against the wall for support. D'Artagnan crowded up close to him, his hand moving hard and slow, letting the head of Treville's cock brush against the front of d'Artagnan's shirt with every stroke. 

“Have to be quick,” Treville managed to say. “Not very private here.”

“No one came in while I was working,” d'Artagnan answered, “but how long this takes depends on you.” He grinned again, tilting his head to one side and smiling with that mouth, that gorgeous, tempting mouth, and did he really have no idea how many sinful thoughts he inspired? 

“Kiss me again,” Treville said, and it sounded like an order but hopefully d'Artagnan knew it for the plea it was. Either way, they were kissing now, tongues touching, then d'Artagnan biting Treville's lips, bottom and then top and then bottom again. Treville's hands came up to rest on d'Artagnan's shoulders, holding on tight while his hips moved on their own, thrusting into the circle of d'Artagnan's fingers. 

D'Artagnan ran his thumb over the head of Treville's dick, spreading slick around. “Good?” he asked, and how could he not know, not  _ see _ what he was doing to Treville?

“Yes,” Treville answered, stroking over those strong shoulders, letting one hand trail down the open front of d'Artagnan's shirt, relishing the texture of hair on his smooth, dark skin. “Keep going, just like that.”

D'Artagnan groaned and tipped his head back, looking for a moment like he was the one being tossed off. And that was a thought, wasn't it — they could get his cock out too, squeeze them both together, stroke themselves off until they spilled all over each other. 

“Wanted you,” d'Artagnan's voice broke into that line of thought, brought Treville back into the moment and made him realize how close he already was to his own edge. “Couldn't tell what you thought, if you wanted me back — ”

“Of course I do,” Treville interrupted him, needing to reassure his soldier just as much as he wanted to care for his friend. “Wanted you since that first day, you're so — ” d'Artagnan squeezed hard and Treville choked, grunted. “That's good, that's so perfect. Wanted you all this time, d'Artagnan. Won't be long now.” 

D'Artagnan nodded in response, rested his injured hand on Treville's hip. His good hand kept moving, tugging and stroking, letting Treville feel all the calluses he was developing. His body was hot and close, pressed up to Treville’s side. Against his thigh, Treville could feel d’Artagnan’s cock, rigid and full, rocking and thrusting in time with the motions of d’Artagnan’s hand. 

“You've grown so strong,” Treville said. His voice was rough, and he hadn't meant to say anything, but he could never regret telling d'Artagnan how exceptional he was. “You're so young, but already you're a better man than most, and — oh yes, like that, faster — ” 

D'Artagnan did as he was asked, and Treville gave himself over to it, stared down at his own cock disappearing into and then emerging from that fist, over and over. He was breathing hard, his forehead resting against d'Artagnan's, and the hand not twisted in d'Artagnan's shirt came up to cup the back of his neck. 

There was so much power in d'Artagnan's grip, left hand and all; so much control and strength, not just physical but strength of will as well. D'Artagnan knew what he wanted, waited for the right moment, and then reached out and grabbed it. And what if this wasn't all he wanted, what if there was more? What if D'Artagnan wanted to fuck Treville, take his captain hard and slow, hard and fast, just hard, always so hard — Treville was spending before he’d realized he was going to, spilling hot and sticky all over d'Artagnan's still-working hand. 

After a moment, Treville leaned back, took a breath and looked d'Artagnan in the eyes, met his gaze calmly. Before a shadow of uncertainty could form, Treville kissed him, gently, swiping his tongue out to caress d'Artagnan's lips. They parted, and d'Artagnan brought his hand up to his mouth, slowly licking the spend off his palm and then each finger, still never looking away from Treville. 

“Captain?” The voice was from outside, but it was close — too close. 

“Shit,” Treville said, putting his cock back into his breeches and working on his laces, no less frantically than when he'd been trying to open them. “Knew we shouldn't do this here.”

A message boy opened the door, looked around in the dim light, focused on them. Was d'Artagnan dressed? Was there anything that would give them away?

“Message for you, Captain. From Cardinal Richelieu.”

“Evil never rests,” Treville sighed. “Go on, Pierre, I'll be right out. And send for Doctor Thebaux, d'Artagnan has injured his hand.” 

Alone once more, Treville looked at d'Artagnan.

“Go,” d’Artagnan said. “I understand.” 

“I'm sorry,” Treville said. “I would love nothing more than to repay the favor, but I must attend to this. Feel free to take a few moments to yourself before returning to your duty.” 

“Thank you, sir.”

Treville hoped d'Artagnan would understand his meaning, offering time to take care of his own arousal. This wasn't the first time Treville had imagined what d'Artagnan would look like, cock in hand, stroking himself. But now Treville knew what his throat looked like when his head was thrown back with pleasure. Now he knew that d'Artagnan would lick up his spend with a smile. 

There was so much more to still learn about d'Artagnan. Treville had no intention of going back. 


	4. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Treville was…prowling, d’Artagnan thought said it best, along his balcony. He glared down at the training yard where d’Artagnan and the other recruits were supposed to be watching two of the commissioned Musketeers spar. But they held no interest for d’Artagnan. He had watched Athos, Porthos, and Aramis spar, and the most he could learn from the two men fighting now were mistakes Athos would never tolerate from him. So, instead, d’Artagnan had positioned himself where he could watch the captain watching the men. Ever since d’Artagnan had so boldly taken hold of Treville’s cock and proven to him just how not clumsy he could be, d’Artagnan had thought of little else besides how he could find himself alone with the captain once more.

It had just felt so good, so right, to cradle Treville’s cock in his hand, feel its weight, and pull on it just right until sticky, delicious spend covered his hand. God, but d’Artagnan wanted to taste Treville’s spend again. He just needed to figure out what he could do to get his captain’s attention.

“Crap.”

Treville had stopped pacing and now stared directly at d’Artagnan. D’Artagnan who was already staring at him instead of watching the sparring, like he was supposed to.

“Crap, crap, crap.”

“D’Artagnan,” Treville growled. “Up here. Now.”

Wishing he could remind Treville that he normally did do the right thing, d’Artagnan hustled across the training yard and up the stairs. He’d wanted his captain’s attention, but not like this. “Although, maybe he’ll have to punish me. Cane or lash me, perhaps,” d’Artagnan thought, his cock starting to grow hard of its own accord.

“Yes, sir,” said d’Artagnan, coming to a stop a full step closer than he would have just a few days ago he realized. But he couldn’t step back. This close to Treville, d’Artagnan could see the amazing eyes, feel his breath on his face, even sense the heat coming off the captain’s body.

“Why were you not watching Fontaine and St. Pierre spar? You’re a recruit, and you’re supposed to be learning.”

“What can I possibly learn from them when I can learn from Athos instead? Learn from you. I heard that before Athos, ten years ago, everyone considered you the best swordsman in France. Why don’t you teach me, sir? I would love to have a private lesson from you on what to do with my…sword.”

D’Artagnan had hoped a mix of honesty, flattery, and flirting would not only save him from punishment, but win the captain over. He could not have been more wrong. The frown on Treville’s face was epic, like an avenging angel in one of those paintings Aramis had shown him.

“Since you cannot concentrate on watching and learning swordsmanship from two  _ commissioned _ Musketeers, perhaps you need a more mindless task. I assume you noticed the monthly food shipment arrived?”

“Oh, no,” d’Artagnan groaned inwardly, fearing where this was headed. “Yes, sir.”

“The deliverymen were rushed and dropped all of the supplies at the gate. They need to be moved to the storehouse.”

D’Artagnan couldn’t stop himself from peeking over his shoulder at the gate where 80 pound bags of grain rested under 40 pound bags of potatoes next to casks of ale that came up to his waist. This was the sort of job every man in the garrison usually pitched in to finish, which they managed in ten or fifteen minutes. Alone it would take d’Artagnan forever. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

The first half hour went just fine. Yes, the bags were heavy and the casks awkward, but d’Artagnan was young and fit. The second half hour, he might have possibly slowed down a step or two. But once he had been hauling the garrison’s monthly foodstuffs to storage for well over an hour, he started feeling uncoordinated and tired. But he would be damned if he would disappoint the captain yet again, so d’Artagnan kept hauling it all.

That is until he started to sway under the weight of a bag of grain and went crashing into the doorframe of the storage building, the 80 pound bag first pinning him against the doorframe and then landing on top of him when he hit the floor.

D’Artagnan started to groan in pain until he realized how much more pain that caused. “Fuck,” he whimpered. He wanted to call out for help, but he clearly had at least several bruised ribs, and he didn’t think he could take a deep enough breath to yell a few feet let alone back to the practice yard where someone might hear him.

Slowly, he worked the bag of grain off himself, screaming involuntarily when it shifted on top of one of his injured ribs. But his outburst was cut short when the bag burst open, grain and dust flying everywhere, including into his open mouth. He was coughing and choking and hurting so miserably when Treville wandered in.

“What’s all this noise? Haven’t you finished— Oh, God. D’Artagnan! Are you alright?” Treville dropped down to his side, brushing the mess off d’Artagnan’s face. “Water. You need water. Give me one second.”

D’Artagnan couldn’t speak or move particularly well, but he managed the tiniest nod of his head.

“Can you sit up?” Treville asked when he returned with a water skin. D’Artagnan honestly didn’t know, and his only reply was a cough. The captain placed his hand under his head and raised it enough to get some water down d’Artagnan’s throat, enough water that he could finally reply.

“My ribs. I might have broken some.”

Treville nodded and set down the water. Gently, he ran his hands up and down d’Artagnan’s sides, then over his chest, before slipping fingertips under his back as far as they would go. D’Artagnan had stripped off his doublet in this heat, so he was sure Treville had no problem feeling through his linen shirt. “I’m going to guess just cracked or bruised. I don’t feel a break. But I need to sit you up and feel your back better. Can you do that?”

“I think so.”

With his captain’s strong hands beneath him, d’Artagnan struggled to a seated position, but not without a few choice oaths. This time while checking him, Treville slipped his hands under his shirt. The pain was still there, but Treville’s skin against his own made d’Artagnan feel immeasurably better. That touch was a combination of caretaker, brother, and lover, and in spite of his pain, d’Artagnan felt the erection he had lost more than an hour ago when he discovered his punishment would not be pleasant returning.

“No,” Treville whispered into d’Artagnan’s ear. “Nothing broken. But you’re a mess, and a warm bath will ease your aches. You’ll never be able to reach your back on your own, though, will you?”

“I’m sure I won’t,” d’Artagnan panted. “Oh, God, Captain,” he hurried on in a breathless whisper, “all I’ve wanted all day is for you to touch me.”

Treville growled with his lips pressed just behind his ear. “I’ll have the tub in my office filled immediately.”

* * *

D’Artagnan thought he might never like anything so well again in his life as Treville removing his clothes. He simply couldn’t imagine any other person so perfectly combining gentleness with purpose, or liking anything so well as that combination as he found in Treville. And while the captain peeled off shirt, undid pants, unlaced the breeches beneath, his mouth was all over d’Artagnan—on his back, his neck, his chest, his own lips.

But d’Artagnan should never have underestimated his captain so completely. If he touched d’Artagnan perfectly while undressing him, how much better could Treville touch him naked? Once Treville lowered him into the tub and the cleaning began, Treville’s care and surety not only washed away the grain, dirt, and sweat, but made d’Artagnan as happy as he’d ever been. The way the captain’s callused fingers brushed over his nipples, smoothed back his wet hair, stroked him hard, was the most exquisite thing d’Artagnan had ever felt. In comparison, it made the undressing completely unremarkable.

“Are you feeling better?” Treville asked after nibbling his earlobe.

D’Artagnan moaned, his eyes closed, trying to concentrate on every point of contact with Treville’s body. “Never better.”

Treville slid his hand up d’Artagnan’s shaft again, swirling his thumb over the tip when he reached the top. “Oh, I think I can do better.” D’Artagnan moaned and smiled, thrilled at this prospect. “But seriously, your ribs, how are you feeling?” Treville gave his cock a little squeeze, and d’Artagnan had to catch his breath before answering.

“They hurt, but really, the soak has helped.” D’Artagnan opened his eyes, meeting Treville’s striking blue ones in return. “You’ve made me feel  _ much _ better.” He raised a hand from beneath the water and cupped Treville’s cheek. Without even having to direct the captain, Treville leaned in and d’Artagnan kissed him slowly, at first sweetly with soft lips alone, but eventually wet and dirty, fucking his beloved captain’s mouth with his tongue. When they finally parted lips, d’Artagnan still held Treville’s head so close, he whispered his next words between those very lips. “You make me feel wonderful.”

Treville’s smile brushed against d’Artagnan’s mouth. “Let’s get you out of there and dried off.”

D’Artagnan tried not to frown when Treville’s hand left his cock, as he leaned back on his heels and reached for a towel. Everything up to this point had been glorious, had felt so good, and d’Artagnan would rather muck stables for a month than have it stop. And then there was the other day. D’Artagnan had taken Treville in hand because he had wanted to, because he needed to show his captain so many things that he couldn’t say in words. He most certainly had not done it with any expectation of being repaid the favor. And yet, here they were, d’Artagnan wet and naked, his cock so responsive to Treville’s grip, and Treville wanted to dry him off? He would not dare say, or even think, that this was unfair, but it was damned disappointing.

The fact that Treville chuckled as he raised d’Artagnan out of the tub didn’t help. “You should see your face,” Treville said while he rubbed d’Artagnan’s arms dry. “You would think someone had kicked your puppy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” d’Artagnan lied when Treville turned him around and started toweling off his back.

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Treville lowered the towel, gripping both of d’Artagnan’s ass cheeks and pushing his chest flush with d’Artagnan’s back. “Go sit on the edge of my bed. There’s something I couldn’t very well do with you still in the tub.”

If he had, perhaps, started to go a little soft with disappointment, by the time d’Artagnan reached the bed, he was fully hard again. He sat on the edge, as instructed, trembling slightly even in the warm air. Treville hovered above him for a moment, cupped his cheek and ran his thumb across d’Artagnan’s lips. But then he dropped to his knees in front of d’Artagnan and finished drying off his legs.

“I’m sorry if I pushed you too hard again today,” Treville said, watching where he rubbed the towel as opposed to looking at d’Artagnan’s face. “I need to maintain discipline and show no favoritism. You are a difficulty on both fronts.”

“I don’t mean to make things hard for you.” D’Artagnan’s voice quivered, Treville’s hands and care and gaze all over his naked body becoming too much. His cock was already gleaming with wetness that had nothing to do with the bath, and he didn’t know how much longer he could just sit here. But he wanted to be good for his captain, to never be a problem.

Treville laughed. “Oh, it’s nothing I haven’t had to deal with before, what with Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. It doesn’t surprise me that they’ve taken to you.”

“And how did you deal with them?”

Treville dropped the towel and peered up at d’Artagnan, mischief sparkling in those blue eyes. But he did not answer. Not in words. Grasping d’Artagnan’s thighs with his hands, Treville leaned over and swallowed d’Artagnan whole.

The groan that escaped d’Artagnan was entirely beyond his control, and much, much too loud. Treville peeked up, an eyebrow raised, but never stopping what he was about. D’Artagnan moaned more moderately to prove to his captain that he understood the order behind that raised eyebrow. Lips curled slightly at the corner with a smile, Treville lowered his gaze and once more gave his full attention to d’Artagnan’s cock.

It was without question the most extraordinary sensation d’Artagnan had ever felt. Treville’s mouth, much like his hands, was equal parts warm and gentle, but also firm and assured. He worked up and down d’Artagnan, his tongue caressing when he wasn’t sucking so hard d’Artagnan had to bite his own fist to keep from screaming. On and on it went, and every time d’Artagnan thought he wouldn’t be able to hold out for another second, Treville would slow down, stop sucking, just allow his warm, wet mouth to envelope d’Artagnan’s cock.

But even with these breaks, the tease could not last indefinitely. D’Artagnan found himself whimpering when Treville pulled almost completely off, his tongue lapping at the tip, periodically diving into the slit. “Taste. So. Good,” Treville said between licks. D’Artagnan fell back on the bed, fists gripping the bedding like the reins of a mad horse, trying to bite back his sobs. Treville swallowed him again so deeply d’Artagnan could feel his cock banging against Treville’s throat. Without a thought in his head, d’Artagnan arched his back and came, spurting uncontrollably down his captain’s throat, while said captain held bruisingly tight to his hips.

D’Artagnan was so euphoric, felt so good, that he didn’t even notice that Treville had gotten off his knees until he was on the bed next to him. “How do you feel now?” Treville asked before placing a soft kiss on d’Artagnan’s throat.

“Never better. And I’m pretty sure I really mean that this time.”

Treville chuckled. “Ribs alright?”

“I don’t feel anything but warm and content.” D’Artagnan laughed. “Is this really how you dealt with Athos, Porthos, and Aramis?”

“Athos…well, Athos is different. But you might have noticed that even when they are being insufferable, Porthos and Aramis do want me to be pleased with them, which helps marginally with the discipline issue.”

“If this is what happens when I fuck up and hurt myself, I can only imagine what you might do if I put all of my energy into doing exactly what you what.” D’Artagnan stretched his neck to reach Treville’s mouth and give him a gentle kiss.

“Please do your best to find out.”


	5. Unstable

It had been three days since d'Artagnan hurt himself. Again. Treville was contemplating commissioning a placard to hang outside his office, big brass lettering and a set of wooden numbers that could be arranged to count the days… They probably wouldn't need to go higher than five.

After the bath and blowjob, d'Artagnan had been seen by Doctor Thebaux—who practically lived at the garrison these days—and put on bed rest for two days. D'Artagnan took it with good grace, which likely indicated that his ribs hurt worse than he’d otherwise let on.

Today, however, d'Artagnan reported for duty bright and early. Since Athos, Aramis and Porthos were still away from Paris on their mission, Treville would need to find some way to keep d'Artagnan occupied and—if possible—out of danger.

“Morning, Captain,” d'Artagnan said, joining Treville at the table where he sat eating breakfast.

“Morning,” Treville answered, toasting d'Artagnan with his cup of watered-down wine. “How're you feeling today?”

“Still sore,” d'Artagnan admitted. “I’d have trouble with anything too strenuous. But I think Constance needed some space, she seemed relieved when I left this morning.”  

“I can't imagine why.”

D'Artagnan blushed a little, probably thinking about how he'd gotten under Constance's feet while home with his injury—shame he wasn't under her skirts, instead. That'd solve a few problems for both of them, and Treville, too.

“I need your help with something today,” Treville began, and manfully refrained from ending the sentence with ‘my rock-hard prick.’ “Richard is ill. Can you oversee the stable boys? They know what they're doing, just keep an eye on them?” Treville knew how much d'Artagnan cared for his horse, and that spending the day in the stables would help soothe and distract  him from the pain in his injured ribs.

“Of course,” d'Artagnan said immediately, his face lighting up. “They don't need my supervision, and they know it, but I don't mind being a stable boy for the day.”

* * *

Treville expected d'Artagnan to find an excuse to be in his office sometime that morning, and was surprised when lunch came and went with no sign of him. By the time he'd finished his dinner as well, he found he was a bit disappointed, even though Treville was determined that they would never neglect work for pleasure.

Entering the stables, Treville didn't see anyone at first. Then his eyes adjusted to the soft glow of the lanterns. Curled up in a bale of hay, fast asleep, d'Artagnan was surrounded by four or five stable boys. Treville stifled a laugh and just stood there for a few minutes, enjoying the view. D'Artagnan's shirt was dirty and his trousers were definitely worse for the wear; he had straw in his hair and what looked like soot on his hands; Treville had never seen him look so peaceful. He almost hated to wake them. Still.

“Working hard, I see?”

D’Artagnan stirred immediately, wiping the sleep out of his eyes and blinking owlishly up at Treville. He now had soot on his face as well as his hands; it gave him a slightly raccoon-ish appearance that was surprisingly endearing.

“We had quite a day,” d'Artagnan whispered as he slowly extricated himself from the pile of sleeping boys. “Jean and Michel cleaned and polished all the saddles, Daniel and Henri brought three horses to be re-shod, and Matthieu and I hauled enough hay to—well, to feed a whole regiment’s horses. By then it was supper time, and now here we are.”

Treville nodded in satisfaction. “A productive day, indeed. Better wake the demons and dismiss them; everyone we expect back tonight is already here, so barring emergencies they're free to go.” Their conversation had already roused the sleeping stable boys, who slowly rolled out of the hay and made their way out of the stable to their barracks, leaving d’Artagnan and Treville alone.

Treville closed the door after them, barring it with a seldom-used plank of wood, shutting out the noise of the typically-rowdy Garrison evening. He turned back to find d'Artagnan standing up, his shirt half-undone, washing his hands in a basin of rainwater.

“Are you still tired? How are your ribs feeling?” Treville asked. “Your duties are also concluded for tonight, if you want to go—”

“No,” d'Artagnan interrupted. “There is nowhere else I would rather be.” He smiled at Treville, still relaxed and peaceful. “My ribs aren't hurting at all, right now.”

It was then that Treville noticed a change to d'Artagnan's attire - his boots were missing, and the ankle he'd injured by falling down the stairs was bandaged once again.

“Your ribs may be fine,” Treville said, concern plain in his voice, “but clearly something else occurred today. What happened to your ankle?”

D'Artagnan startled, looking like he'd entirely forgotten about this injury, and then looked bashful. It was a good look on him, endearing.

“When Matthieu and I were feeding the horses, one of them was spooked by that explosion—did you hear it? I think they were testing Aramis's new grenade designs, they promised to finish the tests before Athos got back. You know how Athos loves grenades.” Treville nodded, and d'Artagnan continued. “Anyways, the horse we were feeding knocked down that pile of old equipment in the back corner, and Matthieu could have been hurt really badly. I managed to push him out of the way, but some of it landed on me, and the surgeon said I should bandage it again. It doesn't hurt much, but having it wrapped up does help.”

“I'm glad Matthieu was not injured, though not that it came at your expense,” Treville said. “And —what pile of equipment? I don't see anything.” Richard would be hearing about this when he was well enough to resume his duties; there was no reason such a dangerous situation should have been allowed in the first place.

“Oh, the boys had it all cleaned up before I got back. They said they'd intended to for a while, and now they had a reason.”

“Well then,” Treville said, stalking slowly and deliberately towards d'Artagnan, “it would appear that you've earned a reward, after such a busy and painful day. What'll it be?”

D'Artagnan moaned, desire plain on his face. “I—” He broke off almost before starting to speak, and Treville gave an encouraging nod. After all they'd done together thus far, d'Artagnan deserved to feel that he could ask for what he wanted, what he needed. “I want you in my mouth, Captain. I know what your spend tastes like, but not how it feels when you take my mouth. I know how you suck a prick but not what you're like when someone's sucking yours. And I really want to take my mind off these aches and pains. May I?”

Treville had absolutely no way to resist a request as honest and giving as this one, not that he’d ever try. He was nodding before d'Artagnan finished the word “mouth” and unlacing his trousers at the same time, shoving them down and away and leaning back against a wall, spreading his legs just enough to brace himself.

D'Artagnan smiled, confident and bold.

“Done this before?” Treville asked him.

“Once or twice,” d'Artagnan answered, kneeling gingerly in front of his captain and then swallowing his half-hard cock in one swift, practiced motion, hands on Treville's hips. He was either downplaying his experience or a natural born cocksucker; maybe both. D'Artagnan pulled off most of the way, swirled his tongue around the head twice, then swallowed him again.

D'Artagnan set up a good, fast rhythm, bobbing up and down, sucking hard each time he pulled back. Treville got harder with every pass, relishing the feel of his cock filling d’Artagnan’s mouth more and more fully with each passing moment. D'Artagnan moaned around him, and Treville echoed it—how long had it been since he fucked in a stable? Too many years entirely; thankfully, d'Artagnan was seeing to that, with great diligence and enthusiasm.

Treville shoved both hands into d'Artagnan's hair, not controlling his movements, just feeling the texture against his fingers. “So good,” Treville gasped. “Just once or twice, you say?”

D'Artagnan pulled off entirely and looked up at Treville with a smile. “What would you rather hear? That I sucked every available cock in my village back in Gascony, and the surrounding farmlands too?”

Treville nodded. “I like a hungry boy,” he said. “One who knows what he wants.”

D'Artagnan laughed and took the head of Treville's cock back into his mouth, wrapping one hand around the shaft. He let himself drool a bit and then slid back, following his mouth with his hand. Then on again, his hand stroking down the hard length slowly, mouth right there taking in Treville's thick cock. Back and forth, again and again, his hand became an extension of his mouth and everything was slick and smooth, hot and wet and tight. Drool slipped over his lips and dripped down to the hay-covered floor between d'Artagnan's knees.

Just as Treville noticed that his hips were thrusting in time with d'Artagnan's strokes, he also realized he was close to his own release. Perhaps he'd hold out longer when he had more experience with this wonderful boy.

“I’m close,” Treville gasped. “You feel so bloody perfect!” D'Artagnan flushed, eyes closing. He leaned back just enough that Treville's cock slipped out of his mouth, saying “pull my hair” and then licking slick off the tip, talking just the head back into his mouth. Treville's grip tightened, twisting locks of hair around his fingers, and d'Artagnan sucked hard. He was tossing Treville off with rough, practiced strokes, the other hand roughly massaging Treville's balls, and the idea of it, the thought that D'Artagnan wanted to swallow Treville's spend was simply too much.

Treville came with a shout, spurting right into d'Artagnan's open mouth. He yanked d'Artagnan's head back, leaving a ribbon of sticky spend dripping down one cheek, then the other, until D'Artagnan fought his grip hard enough to take Treville's cock back into his mouth for the very last spurt.

When Treville was finished, they were both breathing hard. He held out a hand to help d'Artagnan stand up, not missing the wince as he put weight on his bandaged ankle. Treville went in for a sloppy kiss, tasting his release in d'Artagnan's mouth. He cupped d'Artagnan's sticky cheeks, getting spend all over his hands and rubbing it into d'Artagnan's beautiful dark skin. When he had wiped up just barely enough spend for plausible deniability he pulled back, breaking the kiss and smiling.

“Let's head back up to my office; I can see to your comfort in a more fitting manner. And you won't have to stand on that sore ankle.”


	6. Musket Balls

“Do you yield?” d’Artagnan asked Fontaine, who was panting and sweating, and most importantly, on his knees at the point of d’Artagnan’s sword.

“Fuck,” Fontaine spit out along with some blood. D’Artagnan hadn’t realized he’d hit the man that hard, but when you hit a man with your sword hilt in hand, you don’t have to hit him very hard. “I yield.”

All of the Musketeers and recruits surrounding the training yard cheered, and d’Artagnan couldn’t keep a smile from spreading across his face. But he wasn’t entirely a poor winner. He did offer Fontaine his hand and helped the Musketeer to his feet.

“D’Artagnan is the best swordsman in the garrison today!” Richard cheered. D’Artagnan blushed a little, but he was pretty sure Richard’s enthusiasm had a lot to do with the fact that d’Artagnan had downplayed to Treville the state of the mess in the stables the week before when he’d hurt his ankle. At least d’Artagnan knew he would have anything he and his horse needed as long as Richard was around.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far, boy,” said St. Pierre, tending to Fontaine’s scrapes and bruises. “Yes, we had a tourney of the recruits and soldiers here, but there’s one man in the garrison you didn’t best today, and you couldn’t today, tomorrow, or a year from now.”

D’Artagnan paused to stare at St. Pierre. Yes, he and Fontaine were close friends, and St. Pierre wouldn’t be happy to see his friend beaten by a farm boy recruit. But his tone was a little sharp, and also, d’Artagnan couldn’t think what he actually meant. Then St. Pierre turned his eyes upwards, and d’Artagnan followed his gaze up to the balcony where Treville observed them like some mighty Egyptian overlord out of the Old Testament.

“I’m sure Richard never meant to include the captain in his statement,” d’Artagnan said.

“But would the captain like to come down here and defend his good name?” St. Pierre asked with a crook of his lips.

“It’s a little late to throw my name into the tourney now that it’s ended,” Treville said. “And I don’t usually spar with the men.”

“You spar with Athos,” St. Pierre pointed out.

Treville guffawed and started for his steps. “I couldn’t possibly leave him to the likes of you. He needs someone in his own league on occasion.”

Everyone chuckled as Treville began his descent. It was true that Treville only sparred with Athos, which was a good thing, since he indeed was the only fit competition Athos got. Well, Porthos and Aramis were awfully good, but when d’Artagnan watched Athos and Treville, he always understood he was witnessing something special. He wanted to be special like that. He even thought he might want this more than he wanted Treville to fuck him.

That night a week ago in the stable had been amazing. Treville had tasted better than d’Artagnan had even dreamed, but it was the promise at the end of the night that made it even more extraordinary. Treville had taken him back to the office and started to undress him after lying him out on the bed. They’d even gotten as far as Treville removing the pot of oil he kept in his bedside table before they were interrupted. And then every day and night since then had been full of duties—special palace details, supplies needing sent to the Musketeers out on missions—and that first promise had yet to be fulfilled. But hadn’t Treville promised he would do something special for d’Artagnan if he were very good? And he had been extremely good for a week, and he had just won the fencing tourney. Granted, with Athos, Porthos, and Aramis gone, the three best swordsmen were not there to participate, but d’Artagnan’s victory must still mean something. Must still merit a reward.

When Treville took his final step and hit the ground, he began to unbutton his doublet. “But I think you’re onto something, St. Pierre. D’Artagnan should actually have to face a challenge before the day is out.”

D’Artagnan’s heart beat faster than it had at any time that day. Treville was going to spar with him! He thanked God for his loose pants, because the anticipation was actually making him a little hard.

And he wasn’t the only one who had a definite reaction to this surprising news. As men had lost out of the tourney, they had been set the task of loading up pouches with musket balls, exactly ten to a pouch so there would never be any question how much shot you had if you grabbed a bag in a hurry. Work on this activity ceased, as did Richard joking around with the stable boys, and the medical attention combatants like Fontaine were receiving. Every eye rested on Treville and no one spoke.

Treville pulled his sword from its sheath and flourished it a few times to loosen up. With a grin, he took a few steps toward d’Artagnan. “Whenever you’re ready. Assuming you aren’t too tired? You’ve fought, what, ten men today?”

“Only nine,” d’Artagnan answered. “Don’t you want to get your _main gauche_ , sir?”

“It must be in my office. Never mind.”

D’Artagnan looked at the dagger in his left hand with repulsion. “Then I shall not use mine.” He made to slip it back into the sheath on his belt at the small of his back, but Treville’s shake of his head stopped him.

“No need. So, _en garde_?”

Treville left d’Artagnan no more time to argue or prepare. They were fighting, crossing swords, everything d’Artagnan had dreamed. Well, everything he could dream of them doing in front of the garrison. But d’Artagnan had no time to think about what he wanted from Treville behind closed doors. Treville was every bit the swordsman d’Artagnan had believed him to be and more.

Having his rapier and a _main gauche_ should have given d’Artagnan a decisive advantage against any opponent. Yet, he couldn’t get inside Treville’s guard with either blade. Treville wasn’t as fast as Athos, but he was even more efficient. He wasted no movements, his blade always precisely where it needed to be to block d’Artagnan’s latest assault. And d’Artagnan didn’t think it was because of a problem that had plagued him before he began training with Athos, which was giving away where he would strike next with his eyes and posture. No, Treville had simply fought so many men that there was nothing within d’Artagnan’s power that could surprise him. Treville always knew what was coming, and d’Artagnan got the feeling very quickly that the only reason the fight wasn’t already over in the captain’s favor was that Treville had decided that he did not choose for it to end yet.

A curse and a clatter came from behind Treville. D’Artagnan didn’t want to look away, but Treville seemed so uninterested, he thought someone ought to. What d’Artagnan saw made the blades tremble in his hands.

“Captain! Don’t move!”

But the warning was too late. Treville was already stepping to the side and toward the table where the musket ball packaging was happening. The giant crate of balls the men were working from had tipped over and all of the balls were now rolling into the practice yard and under Treville’s raised foot.  When his foot came down, Treville went sprawling. He landed hard on his side, not just on the packed earth and musket balls, but on d’Artagnan’s, thankfully blunted, blade.

But it wasn’t blunted enough. When d’Artagnan scuffled to his side, trying not to fall on the loose balls himself, he could see blood coming from his captain’s side. It was all he could do not to scream and cry. “Captain, my God, I’m so sorry.”

Treville groaned, but then turned his face upward to d’Artagnan and growled, “Stop being sorry and send for Doctor Thebaux. He ought to know his way to the garrison by now, at any rate.”

* * *

D’Artagnan watched Doctor Thebaux close the door to Treville’s office behind him. The man really was becoming like a member of the family, he had been to the garrison so often since Athos and the other Musketeers left on their mission. Fortunately, Athos and the rest would be back the day after tomorrow, and perhaps d’Artagnan and Treville would start experiencing some better luck.

Turning back to Treville, who sat propped against his headboard, d’Artagnan smiled before taking Treville’s hand and kissing it. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do for you? More pillows?”

“You can stop apologizing for something that is not your fault,” Treville said, squeezing d’Artagnan’s hand as he said so. “You didn’t spill the musket balls. And I can’t even really blame Richard and Lefoux for it. It was an accident, and accidents happen.”

“But that was my sword that cut your side,” d’Artagnan said, kissing the hand again and then peering above it directly into Treville’s beautiful eyes. “Hurting you is the very last thing I ever wanted to do.”

Treville rubbed his thumb along the side of d’Artagnan’s hand. “Your blade was blunt, and barely cut the skin. You heard the surgeon. He was debating whether I needed any stitches at all. My ribs hurt from the fall far worse than anything else. Trust me when I say I’ve had much worse.”

“But the surgeon also told you to favor your right side for at least a week and to stay in bed for the next two days.”

“Are you worried I can’t toss myself off left handed?” Treville smirked.

But d’Artagnan couldn’t smirk. He felt so deeply for his captain that his first instinct wasn’t to joke, but to worry. His second was to do everything for Treville he possibly could. And that began with leaning over and giving his captain the sweetest kiss his lips could muster. Treville’s left hand still entirely fine, laced into d’Artagnan’s hair, guiding their mouths into a perfect rhythm.

“I’m sure you can do anything you want,” d’Artagnan said between kisses, “but I’d be more than happy to take care of all your tossing off needs while you recover.”

Treville moaned into d’Artagnan’s mouth. “Now that’s an offer I will take you up on.”

“I’d been so hoping after I did well today winning the tourney, I could finally take you up on the offer you made a week ago.”

“Mmm. That would be wonderful, but I’m not sure I’m going to be the most active lover for the next week.”

D’Artagnan forced his tongue deeper and harder into Treville’s mouth. He wanted his captain, wanted him so badly, and now. After spending so much time lately injured and then busy with Musketeer business, d’Artagnan had set his heart on tonight finally being the night he at last got to feel his captain inside him. He didn’t want to give that up.

“I think we can still manage it, even if you’re less active than you might wish.” D’Artagnan sucked at the spot just below his ear and behind the jaw that he knew drove Treville wild.

“That’s a lovely offer and a terrible idea,” Treville said. His moans, however, bespoke a different opinion on the matter to d’Artagnan’s mind.

“Why?” he asked, moving his lips lightly down Treville’s neck until he stopped again where collar bone met shoulder and sucked again. “I don’t see why you can’t stay exactly where you are while I take care of everything else.”

Treville’s next moan had a distinct undertone of frustration, and the hand still wrapped in d’Artagnan’s hair pulled with meaning until they were looking each other in the eye. “No jokes about farm boys in Gascony. Have you ever been fucked by another man?”

D’Artagnan’s eye flittered downward and he pressed his lips tightly together. He hadn’t really been lying about what he had done back at home when Treville had asked if he had ever sucked a man’s dick before. It had been pretty much every available dick in the countryside.  It’s just that there had only been three dicks available to him. And that is all there had ever been, besides touching and grinding. He felt embarrassed by his inexperience, even though he was certain he could do this.

“D’Artagnan?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought. Come now, look up at me.” D’Artagnan did as he was told—he always would do what his captain commanded—and as a reward he received a kiss. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate the offer. And definitely don’t think I don’t want my cock in your perfect arse more than anything. But I want to do this right for you. I don’t want to hurt you, and I want you to enjoy it.”

“I will enjoy it,” d’Artagnan said. “I already know I will.”

“That’s sweet to say, but you can’t know.”

“I can know,” he said, licking his lips. “I like to fuck myself. Put as many fingers in myself as I can.” Treville closed his eyes and moaned. D’Artagnan took the opportunity to resume sucking on Treville’s neck. “I love how it feels. I can guess how much better it will feel when it’s your thick cock.” He stopped talking for a moment to suck at the hollow in Treville’s neck. “You have the most beautiful cock in the world. Please fuck me with it now.”

“This isn’t a terribly good idea.”

D’Artagnan leaned across Treville’s body, careful not to bump the injuries on his side, so he could lick Treville’s earlobe before whispering, “It’s the best idea I’ve ever had. Let me show you how I touch myself. Let me get myself ready for you.”

Treville turned his face so he could capture d’Artagnan’s lips, and d’Artagnan happily let him. They practically swallowed one another, and in this position, d’Artagnan could feel just how hard Treville already was. He swore if he didn’t have the captain inside him tonight he scream. Well, he would probably scream if he did get the captain inside him as well, but that was something entirely different.

“I still don’t know if we should,” Treville said when their kiss ended.

“Let me at least get myself ready. You’d like to see that, wouldn’t you?”

Treville clenched his jaw together to stifle his groan. D’Artagnan, on the other hand, had to fight the urge to laugh. There was no doubt Treville wanted this every bit as much, and d’Artagnan was determined to give it to him. “Do you remember where the oil is?”

D’Artagnan swiftly kissed Treville before leaning over to the bedside table and opening the top drawer where he knew he’d find the oil. “I am a very observant young man, or haven’t you noticed how attentive I am to your every word and move?”

“Oh, I have noticed. The way your big, dark eyes follow me. I can feel them all over me everywhere I go in the garrison. I don’t know how I haven’t stripped you naked in the middle of the practice yard already.”

Twisting the lid off the oil, d’Artagnan said, “Be assured I would not stop you.”

“I can’t strip you tonight, sadly,” Treville said, with a genuine frown on his face. “But I’d make a mess of it with only the one hand and it would take forever. And I don’t think I can wait forever to see you naked.”

D’Artagnan had taken off doublet and boots ages ago while the surgeon had been there. Treville was down to just breeches and a loose linen shirt. He smirked. “And what if I want to see you naked, as well?”

“Never let it be said I denied you anything,” Treville replied. “I don’t know why you and the surgeon put this damned shirt on me anyway. It’s hot and I’m already covered in bandages.”

“Then surely that should be the first thing to go.” D’Artagnan sat back down on the edge of the bed and helped Treville lean forward enough that he could raise the shirt over his head. Once it was gone, d’Artagnan couldn’t help taking a moment to stare. First he wanted to check the state of the bandages, which looked good. Then he wanted to see if the bruising above the bandages was any worse, which it was, but that was only to be expected. But then he wanted to let his eyes roam over every other inch of flesh on Treville’s torso. He might be twice d’Artagnan’s age, but he was still as fit and beautiful as any Musketeer in the regiment. There were perhaps a few more scars in Treville’s chest than anyone else save Aramis, and d’Artagnan had now added another to the collection, but these scars just added to the glorious sight before him. D’Artagnan leaned down and licked first Treville’s right nipple then the left before just nuzzling his chest for a moment.

“You’re beautiful,” d’Artagnan said before planting one last kiss in the middle of Treville’s chest.

“I’m an old war horse. You’re the one who’s beautiful. Won’t you let me see you now?”

D’Artagnan briefly wanted to argue that if “old war horse” were an accurate descriptor, it shouldn’t be used negatively, but he couldn’t ignore a command. Yes, Treville may have phrased it as a request, but anything Treville desired held the weight of a command to him.

And so d’Artagnan stood at the side of the bed and faced Treville directly. He slowly untied his shirt at the throat, and he wasn’t ashamed to say he delighted in the way Treville licked his lips as he watched. Unable to tease it out any longer, d’Artagnan drew the shirt over his head and then let it drop to the floor. Then he started on his pants, faster now, because he needed them off as much as Treville did. He pushed them over his hips and was already hard at work unlacing his breeches and he stepped out of them. Before he took those completely off, though, he reached down and yanked off his socks, so that when he finally stepped out of his breeches he was completely naked.

Treville stared at him in the most deliciously wanton manner. D’Artagnan actually wondered for a moment if it was possible to come just by having someone look at you. If it were, Treville was certainly the man to make it happen. “Come here,” Treville said, a little growl deep in his throat tinging the words. D’Artagnan moved to the head of the bed and stood with his thigh pressed against the mattress. Treville reached across himself with his good hand and swiped a thumb across the tip of d’Artagnan’s fully erect cock. “You have no idea how gorgeous you are.”

“I do when you look at me like that.”

“Are you sure you want to go through with everything we talked about? I’m sure I could suck you off right here and now and be perfectly happy with that.”

Treville smeared the wetness at the tip of d’Artagnan’s cock down the shaft, and he very nearly said, “Yes.” But as much as he would love for Treville to take him in his mouth again, d’Artagnan wanted Treville inside him more. “Don’t you want to see me fuck myself? I want to do it for you. I want to touch myself while you look at me like that.”

Treville growled, but let go of d’Artagnan’s cock. Unsure that he could withstand Treville’s advances again, d’Artagnan set to work, beginning by drizzling oil in the middle three fingers of his right hand. He looked down at Treville and the bed, deciding where exactly he wanted to do this, and then he smiled. “Can you spread your legs a little?”

Treville did so, and d’Artagnan slipped between them, facing Treville. Then he reached behind himself and smeared oil around his hole. He was already so sensitive and ready, he whimpered before he even slipped that first finger inside. But when he did get inside himself, his head fell back and his eyes closed as he let out a long moan. For a moment, he was so caught up in the feeling he forgot where he was and why he was doing this, but Treville’s moan reminded, and he opened his eyes.

The look on Treville’s face was the best thing yet. The want and affection washed over d’Artagnan, making his cock twitch. When he looked down at Treville’s breeches, it looked as though he was having a similar reaction. “We forgot to take those off,” d’Artagnan said.

“You have a free hand, I have a free hand. I think we can work it out. As long as it wouldn’t distract you too much from what you’re already doing.”

D’Artagnan twisted his finger inside himself and sighed. “I think if we work together, we can do anything.”

And so d’Artagnan worked his finger slowly back and forth in his ass, never quite pulling all of the way out, while his free left hand met Treville’s at the laces of his breeches. It was awkward, and they both fumbled a bit, but they avoided getting the laces in knots. And all the while, d’Artagnan reached inside himself, not wanting to disappoint his captain.

“Good enough,” Treville said, his voice thick and hot. “Get these damned things pushed down.” With a few pulls, and d’Artagnan scooting back a bit on his knees, they got the breeches down and Treville’s cock free. Treville sighed with relief. “Yes. That’s what I needed.”

That accomplished, d’Artagnan thought it time to push in a second finger. He bit his lower lip, and had to fight the urge to close his eyes and sink into the glorious sensation, but he wanted to keep his eyes open and focused on his captain. Once again, Treville’s look made it worth the effort. D’Artagnan truly never had felt so beautiful.

“You really do love to do that do yourself,” Treville said.

“How do you think I got so good at tossing myself off left-handed?” D’Artagnan grabbed himself and gave a tug.

“Oh, if anyone is going to do that, it’s going to be me.” But Treville couldn’t quite reach him, and when he tried to sit up, d’Artagnan gently, but firmly, pushed him back with a hand to his chest.

“Not yet. I want to come on your cock. I want to spend all over you because you feel so good inside me.” D’Artagnan pushed his third finger in. He wasn’t actually quite ready for it yet, but he needed to get ready for Treville’s cock as quickly as possible. He wasn’t going to last much longer, even if he did everything not to brush that spot inside himself that would have him coming long before Treville ever started fucking him. “I’m almost ready,” he said with a grunt.

“No, you aren’t,” Treville said. He was able to just brush d’Artagnan’s knee, and it hit d’Artagnan like a slap. “Slow down. I’m enjoying the show. And like I said, I don’t want to hurt you.”

D’Artagnan was about to protest—how could Treville know if he was ready or not? He wasn’t the one with his fingers in d’Artagnan’s ass. But just as Treville had known exactly what d’Artagnan was going to do before he did it when they sparred, he instinctively knew what d’Artagnan was doing now. Also, d’Artagnan wasn’t a complete fool. He fully understood what Treville had just implied.

“So, you are going to fuck me tonight?” d’Artagnan asked, slowing down and enjoying the burn and stretch and tingle of his fingers again.

“I don’t see how I can’t,” Treville said with a smile. “Take a minute and get my breeches off and put some more oil on your fingers.”

D’Artagnan didn’t want to take his fingers out, but he knew Treville was right. It would feel even better with his fingers slicker, and Treville might be better than he had been now that his cock was out of his breeches, but he would certainly be even more comfortable with them all the way off. So he removed his fingers with a sigh. A towel the surgeon had used was still on the table and would need to be washed anyway, so he found a clean corner and wiped his fingers before gently lifting Treville’s legs and getting his breeches off.

Once he slicked his fingers back up and set the jar of oil on the very edge of the table so they could reach it to spread on Treville’s cock when the time came, d’Artagnan crawled back on the bed to where he had been before. But Treville shook his head. “Turn around. I want to see you fucking yourself this time.”

Somehow it had never dawned on d’Artagnan that Treville, or really anyone, would want to see that. But now that Treville had suggested it, so filthy yet sexy, d’Artagnan wanted to do it more than anything. So he knelt on the bed, once more between Treville’s legs, but now with his feet slipped under Treville’s thighs, his body close enough for Treville to touch. The real difference was that this time he was staring at the foot of the bed. He felt vulnerable, someone watching him so intimately who he could not see in turn. Yet it was Treville, and d’Artagnan felt it only right that he should be as naked and vulnerable and open for Treville as he possibly could be.

This time when he reached around himself, he started with two fingers. And since he could not see Treville, he completely indulged his urge to throw his head back and close his eyes, thoroughly losing himself in the sensation. In and out, he thrust into himself as far as he could reach, letting out another moan every time he pushed in again.

“That,” Treville began, but he stopped to clear his throat. “That is spectacular.”

“Do you want to see what I look like with another finger inside me? I want another finger. I want to make myself ready for you.”

With his back turned, d’Artagnan hadn’t been able to see what Treville was doing, hadn’t seen him take the oil and slick up a finger of his own. No, d’Artagnan didn’t know any of this until Treville pushed a finger in beside d’Artagnan’s two.

“Oh, you’re right. You were ready for a third,” Treville said.

D’Artagnan wanted to scream. Nothing had ever felt so right in all his life. He wanted this to go on forever, Treville moving his finger back and forth, opposite d’Artagnan’s own fingers, and unlike d’Artagnan, Treville didn’t avoid anything inside. “Sir,” d’Artagnan whimpered.

Treville pushed his finger in hard, no finesse, just pure force. “Don’t call me ‘sir’ again unless you’re ready for me to spend.”

“No, sir,” d’Artagnan said with a laugh and a moan.

“Oh, yes, you’re ready for me now,” said Treville, wiggling his finger between d’Artagnan’s. If he wanted to talk about things that shouldn’t happen again or else someone would come, that was it. But then he pulled in out, and d’Artagnan felt sad and empty, even with his own fingers still inside. But his own body wasn’t enough for him anymore—d’Artagnan needed Treville’s body to be complete. “Turn around.”

D’Artagnan scooted around, loathed to remove his fingers, which would have allowed him to move faster. Treville was wiping his hand on the same towel d’Artagnan had used earlier. He tossed it down on the table and then picked up the oil, spilling a generous amount into his palm. With a smile on his face, his blue eyes never leaving d’Artagnan’s face, Treville took himself in hand, smearing the oil all over his cock.

“I wanted to do that,” d’Artagnan said, fingers still slowly moving inside him.

“Next time. Now, can you get up here?”

D’Artagnan felt at that moment he would do anything to get Treville inside him. But as he reluctantly pulled out his fingers and wiped them clean, he looked at just how big Treville’s cock was, and wonder what really would be the best way to make what they both wanted so badly happen. Finally he decided that he couldn’t merely kneel above Treville, but he would have to squat more and lower himself down. The idea of the position struck d’Artagnan as obscene, but he saw no other way.

When he moved above Treville, the hunger in the eyes that met d’Artagnan’s made him dismiss any thoughts of obscenity. Nothing that gave this gorgeous, amazing man such pleasure could be obscene; it could only be right and good and something d’Artagnan should do as often as possible.

“I think you’ve become rather more agile these past few weeks,” Treville said. “No doubt you can balance without your hands on the headboard. Spread yourself for me.”

D’Artagnan’s leaking cock jumped against his belly, leaving a wet streak. But before he did as ordered, d’Artagnan leaned in to give Treville the filthiest kiss he could manage. Moaning into each other’s open, barely touching mouths, d’Artagnan placed a hand on each cheek and pulled himself apart for his captain, who meanwhile guided his cock straight to the target.

When Treville entered him, d’Artagnan didn’t know what to do with himself. He wanted to scream, to crush himself against Treville and squeeze and claw, to bite and suck and lick every inch his mouth could reach. But he couldn’t scream—they were at the garrison, and there were too many ears listening. He couldn’t hold Treville tight because of the injuries he was at least partially responsible for, no matter what Treville said. But if he was extremely gentle and minded Treville’s wounds, he could push his mouth to the flesh of Treville’s shoulder and neck and face.

“Oh, God, sir,” d’Artagnan said, settling into a rhythm with the help of Treville’s good hand on his ass and his own bracing against the headboard. “You feel better than I thought. You’re so good inside me. I feel so good.” And it was true, no matter how inadequate the words. D’Artagnan wanted to stay here forever, Treville filling him up, ready to spill at any moment.

Treville growled low in his throat. “What did I say about calling me ‘sir’?”

“You said not to, unless I wanted you to come.”

“And do you want me to come already? I thought you’d want to make this last at least for a little while.”

“Oh, sir, I want it to last all night and all day tomorrow and for the next week,” d’Artagnan laughed.

Treville nudged d’Artagnan’s jaw with his nose so he could kiss his mouth. “Can you balance if I move my hand?”

“Yes, sir,” d’Artagnan said, licking Treville’s mouth.

“Good, because if I’m going to spend, so are you.” And just that quickly, Treville’s hand was gone from d’Artagnan’s ass and cradling his balls instead.

“Fuck!”

Treville thrust up and chuckled. “That is the general idea.”

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” d’Artagnan moaned in time as Treville now started to pull on his cock. And he was so close, between Treville’s hand on him and cock inside him. He wouldn’t make it much longer. As much as he wanted this to last and last, he just couldn’t hold out anymore, a tingle and pressure radiating from his toes to the top of his head. It was building, an unstoppable wave that could soon crash over him. “Fuck, sir. I can’t,” he shook his head. “I can’t anymore. Sir, I have to—“

But before he even got the final word out, he was spending in thick spurts all over Treville’s stomach, his chest, his hand. As he continued to come, d’Artagnan dropped his head on Treville’s good shoulder, and whimpered, “Oh, sir.”

Treville squeezed d’Artagnan tight, getting one last spurt from his aching sensitive cock, and then his own orgasm hit. He panted and dropped d’Artagnan’s cock to claw at his hip. “D’Artagnan,” he moaned, and it seemed as if he wanted to say more, but couldn’t, all his energy focused on his cock spending deep inside d’Artagnan. He shuddered and spasmed, and then went still, his chin resting on his chest.

D’Artagnan kissed his temple, in no hurry to move, to admit it was over and have Treville pull out from inside him. In return, Treville rubbed d’Artagnan’s hip, but then he seemed to realize that his hand was covered in spend. Treville leaned back and laughed, taking his hand away from d’Artagnan. “We should probably clean up.”

“We should probably make more of a mess,” d’Artagnan whispered, his lips brushing Treville’s ear.

“What I wouldn’t give to be twenty again.”

“I wouldn’t have you at any other age, sir.”

Treville moaned. “How am I supposed to see to your training when every time you address me properly I get hard?”

“Athos will be back soon. He can take care of all of my training that he used to.” D’Artagnan licked Treville’s throat. “You can keep seeing to my special training regimen.”


End file.
